


If You Can't Take the Heat

by Marvelous_Writer



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Crying, Domestic Fluff, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IronDad and SpiderSon, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Poor Peter Parker, Shaky Hands, Sick Peter, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Spice Intolerance, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting, Whump, Whumptober 2019, dad tony stark, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 19:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelous_Writer/pseuds/Marvelous_Writer
Summary: Peter gets sick while visiting the Stark's at their lake house during his summer vacation and discovers a negative side effect to his powers. His sensitivity to spicy foods.Whumptober Day One: Shaky Hands





	If You Can't Take the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone and Happy Whumtober! 🍁
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this one!
> 
> (Emeto warning!!) ⚠️

Peter’s discovered a lot of things that have changed about himself ever since being bitten by that spider and getting his powers. His asthma that he’s had for as long as he can remember was now completely gone, he no longer needed glasses, he needed to eat a whole lot more than the average person, he got colder in the winter and sometimes warmer in the summer, and a whole bunch of other things. His powers came with both positives and negatives. 

One of those negatives, being his newfound sensitivity to spicy foods. 

He’s not really sure how or why it started, but a few weeks ago he went out to dinner with May and Happy, and they ordered buffalo wings as one of their appetizers. Peter ended up eating a good amount of them, too but he woke up hours later around one-thirty in the morning, to his chest cramping and burning away. He ended up dismissing it as heartburn and chewed on a few Tums tablets, which seemed to do the trick. 

Little did he know at the time, that it would soon become an issue for him. 

This time around, however… it was worse than the first time it happened. 

_ Way worse.  _

For the past few days, Peter’s been staying at the Stark’s lake house for the summer, enjoying his days playing outside and swimming in the lake with Morgan, and being able to just relax after a stressful year at school since blipping back. 

Pepper ended up making a delicious Mexican chicken dish last night for dinner, with rice and beans on the side. Peter helped himself to at least two generous helpings of it, thinking nothing of his newfound issue with spicy foods since he hasn’t had any issues lately.

Until now. 

…….

Peter wakes up to a dull ache in his chest. He rolls over on his side and tries to ignore it so he could go back to sleep, but it only seems to get worse as the minutes passed by. 

“Oh no…  _ not again.” _ He mumbles to himself in the darkness of his room and closes his eyes. 

He knows this horrible burning, cramping sensation all too well by now. 

Peter huffs out an annoyed sigh and slowly pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through his aching chest. He grabs the spare pillow from the other side of the bed and throws it behind him, adjusting the three pillows so he can prop himself up. He once read on some medical website that people suffering from heartburn should sit up as straight as they could so their stomach acids stayed down.

Peter closes his eyes once again and tries to relax, hoping to fall asleep and wake up feeling better. 

Only that doesn’t happen. 

The  _ Parker Luck _ strikes again. 

Peter wakes up sometime later and instantly regrets it. His chest was absolutely  _ burning _ . It feels like someone’s inside his chest, squeezing him. Peter leans his head back against the pillows, his head bumping against the wooden headboard as he lets out a pained groan. 

Why does this always have to happen to him?

A particularly sharp cramp runs through his chest and he winces, gritting his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut. When the pain subsides, he’s slightly breathless as he tries to come up with a plan. 

When this was over, he wasn’t going to eat another spicy thing for the rest of his life. But for now, he needed to find some Tums, and fast before this gets any worse. The only problem is that he isn’t sure if he can get out of bed in his current state with the amount of pain he’s in. 

Peter debates on asking FRIDAY to wake Tony up, but the last thing he wants is to do is risk waking Pepper up as well. They both need all the sleep they can get with Morgan’s crazy six year old energy that never seems to let up. 

So he was on his own here. 

Peter grits his teeth with a pained groan as he leans forward, his chest convulsing painfully, feeling like someone was twisting his insides and lighting a match to them. A fiery pain spreads through his ribs, causing him to grasp his sides tightly.

He crossed his legs underneath the blankets and leans down, resting his forehead on the mattress in front of his feet, desperately trying to relive some of the pain. But it doesn’t help. 

A frustrated sound escapes from his lips and he slowly sits back up, face twisted in discomfort as he breathes heavily through his nose, trying to breathe through the pain. His stomach churns away with boiling hot lava, only adding to his misery. 

Peter eases himself back against his pillows with a low groan, grimacing when another wave of fire races up his chest. 

Why did he have to eat all of that spicy chicken last night? It had just been so good that he couldn’t really stop himself from having more. 

Peter’s brows pull together as he glances over at the alarm clock on his desk, the bright red glowing lights reading four-fifteen in the morning. 

It’s way too early to be dealing with this crap. 

He closes his eyes and leans forward again, resting his forehead against the mattress in hopes to relieve some of the pain coursing through his body. 

He stays like that for a few long, dreadful minutes before a wave of nausea rolls over him. The last thing he wanted to do was puke all over himself and his bed. That would be a pain in the butt to clean up. Peter groans and slowly lifts his head, forcing himself to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Lights, FRIDAY.” He mumbles as he gets to his feet, the lights dimly kicking on. 

He stumbles out into the dark hallway, one hand out to fell for the wall so he didn’t bump into anything, while his other hand wraps around his ribs, pressing down against the fiery inferno raging in his chest. He walks past Morgan’s room and takes a few more steps until his hand brushes up against the wooden door frame of the bathroom. His fingers brush up against the light switch and he flips it on, closing his eyes from the sudden brightness. He blindly walks in and closes the door as quietly as he can behind himself. 

Peter squints in the harsh LED lights as he slowly pads over to the toilet and opens the lid before taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub. Another sharp, painful cramp hits his chest and Peter lets out a miserable groan, bending over so his forehead rests against his knees. He reaches up and massages his sides in hopes to relieve some of the burning coming from his ribs, but it does nothing to help. 

He’s in so much pain right now, that he seriously doubts Tums could help him at this point. 

Maybe he needs to throw up?

Apparently his body doesn’t care to give him the time to think about his options, because another wave of nausea rolls over him, hot saliva rapidly filling his mouth.

Peter jumps to his feet and takes a few quick steps over to the toilet before he gingerly lowers himself down to the floor and leans over the bowl, spitting out a string of saliva. He kneels there, and waits for the inevitable, hunched over the toilet, only nothing happens. 

“Come on…” Peter mumbles miserably and closes his eyes. 

He waits for a few moments before he tries tightening his stomach muscles in desperation, wincing from the sharp cramp he gets in response. He does it again and stretches the back of his throat to test his gag reflex. Something shifts inside of his stomach followed by an unhappy sounding gurgle. Peter stretches his throat a few more times before another wave of nausea comes over him, forcing a gag out of his mouth. 

But nothing comes up. 

“Come on,  _ please.”  _ Peter whines into the bowl, eyes watering. 

He just wants to get this over with. 

Peter stretches his throat out again and gags, feeling something warm  _ finally  _ shoot up from his stomach. He heaves as a small amount of vomit spews out of his mouth and into the toilet. He blinks away the tears in his eyes and sees undigested chunks of last night’s dinner floating around in the water. The sight has him sticking his head over the toilet once again, throwing up.

Peter lets out a hoarse groan when it finally stops, his chest burning and cramping away still. He pushes away from the toilet, seeming to be done for the moment, and lies down on the cold tiled floor, only to feel something horribly warm slosh around in his stomach, not allowing him to lay down on his side. Peter groans again and pushes himself back up, tears continuing to slide down his cheeks as he hunches over, pressing his face against his right leg. 

He’s so tired and all he wants to do is just  _ lie down _ , but he can’t with how much pain he’s in. 

A knock suddenly comes at the door but he can’t bring himself to move. 

“Pete? You okay in there?” Tony’s groggy voice comes from the other side. 

“No…” Peter answers without moving his head from his leg.

“I’m coming in, alright?” Tony tells him as the bathroom door slowly creaks open. 

Peter hears footsteps approach him before he feels a warm hand on his back, gently rubbing up and down along his spine. 

“Oh, kiddo..” Tony sympathetically says. “You’re not feeling so hot, huh?” 

“No.” Peter miserably shakes his head as he slowly sits up, hunched over his lap. 

Tony was kneeling on the floor beside him, brows pulled together in concern as he watches him. Peter tightly closes his eyes when he feels another burst of heat coarse through his chest, coiling around each of his ribs in a death grip. He groans and leans forward a bit, gritting his teeth. 

Tony’s hand pauses on his back. “What’s going on? What hurts?” He asks, tone filled with worry. 

“E-Everything.” Peter groans out. “I f-feel like I’m on f-fire.” 

“Was it something you ate?” 

“Think so.” Peter slowly nods. 

Another wave of nausea crashes over him, along with a mouthful of saliva. Peter lunges for the toilet, Tony’s hand falling away from his back, just in time before he painfully retches. 

Peter violently gags into the porcelain bowl as more undigested chunks of his dinner come back up, splashing down into the water. It  _ hurts _ coming back up. His throat starts to absolutely  _ burn _ as he continues throwing up, struggling to get it all out. He gasps in between violent heaves, feeling some of it get lodged in his throat, tears freely flowing down his cheeks.

Peter coughs up more bile, throat raw and burning. He lets out a breathy, pained groan that echoes in the toilet as he leans his head against the cold rim, squeezing his eyes closed. 

“You’re alright… You’re okay…” Tony softly murmurs at his side, his hand rubbing small, comforting circles on his back in between his shoulders. 

A violent shiver races through Peter at that moment, his teeth chattering together. His stomach was still churning away, along with the fiery sensation running through his chest and ribs, which were both thankfully starting to ease up a bit. 

Tony gets up at some point and grabs him a cup of ice water, helping Peter sit up to sip at it. Peter swishes it around in his mouth before spitting out into the toilet. 

“Try to take a few small sips. It’ll help.” 

“I’ll just puke again.” Peter miserably mumbles, but he takes a sip anyways, feeling it go all the way down his throat with how cold it is. 

Peter hands him the cup back with shaking hands and Tony places it up on the sink countertop for the time being. 

A few minutes pass by before Peter finds himself sticking his head into the toilet once again, throwing up acidic, watery vomit that shoots out from both his mouth and nose. It lasts for what feels like forever, leaving him gasping and coughing. 

When he’s able to catch his breath, Tony hands him a wad of toilet tissue and Peter blows his nose, dropping it in the toilet. Tony reaches over for him and flushes the toilet, not seeming to even be fazed by the water’s contents. When the water stills once again, Peter lifts his shaking arms up and leans them on the toilet rim, pillowing his head on top. He tightly closes his eyes, shivering from the coldness of the bathroom, feeling Tony rubbing his back again. 

He isn’t sure how much time has passed before he feels his shoulder being lightly shaken, taking him out of his light doze. He groggily opens his heavy eyes and turns his head, meeting Tony’s concerned ones. 

“Think you’re done for now?” 

“Think so…” Peter nods as he raised his head, slowly rising from his hunched over position against the toilet. 

“Let’s get you back into bed, kiddo. I don’t want you sleeping on the floor.” Tony softly tells him as he stands up, knees clicking in protest. 

He bends down and helps Peter get to his wobbly, weak legs, guiding the sick and exhausted teenager back to his room. Tony fixes the pillows on his bed before he helps Peter lie down, propped up against the pillows. 

“I’m c-cold.” Peter stutters out, still shivering. 

“That happens sometimes when you’re sick.” Tony sympathetically tells him as he pulls the blankets up, trying to cover the shivering teen as best as he could in his partial vertical position. “There you go, bud.” 

Peter lets his head roll to rest on his shoulder as he blinks sleepily up at him, feeling completely drained. He’s immensely grateful that the cramps and burning were almost gone, replaced by a dull ache from all of the puking he’d done. 

“The fire’s gone.” Peter sleepily mumbles. 

“That’s good.” Tony says as he reaches a hand up and brushes a strand of curls away from Peter’s sweaty forehead. He frowns and brings the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead. “You’re a little warm. Hey, FRIDAY, what’s the kid’s temp at?” 

_ “Peter’s temperature is steadily resting at one hundred and two point seven, boss. I recommend ibuprofen and a cold compress to bring it down.”  _ The AI’s Irish accented voice comes through the speakers in the ceiling.

Tony nods to himself as he stands up from the bed. “I’m going to grab you some meds. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Peter hums in response as his eyes slip closed, hearing footsteps retreat from his room leaving him in silence. He hears the stairs creaking a few minutes later, footsteps heading back to his room. Peter forces open his heavy eyes, just as Tony walks in, a tumblr filled with a blue beverage in one hand, a washcloth in the other. 

“I got you some Gatorade to wash the pills down.” Tony says as he puts the tumblr down on the nightstand, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

Peter snakes his hand out from under the blankets and reaches out a shaky hand, taking the two pills from Tony. 

“These my super drugs?” He sleepily asks, earning a laugh from Tony. 

“That they are, fresh from Bruce’s lab. He cooked those up just for you.” He softly smiles as he passes him his drink. 

“Mmh… he’s really nice.” Peter murmurs as he swallows down the pills with a sip of the sweet berry flavored drink. He  _ loves  _ Glacier Freeze. It was the king of all Gatorades. 

He rests the tumblr against his chest as he sips away at it slowly, mindful of his stomach that could rebel against him if he overdid it. The pills were risky enough. 

After a few more sips Peter leans his head back against the mountain of pillows behind his head, feeling like he could fall asleep at any second. 

“All done?” Tony asks as he reaches out for the drink. 

Peter tiredly nods and lets him take it out of his hands as he lets out a yawn, wincing when his throat protests against the movement. Tony picks up the washcloth from the nightstand and drapes it over Peter’s forehead, relief flowing through him with the coolness it brings him. 

“There you go, kiddo.” Tony murmurs as he began to run his fingers through the teen’s curls. 

Peter lets out a small, content breath through his nose and closes his eyes, feeling his body relax under Tony’s hand, leaning into the comforting touch. As the minutes pass by, he feels himself beginning to drift off as everything around him starts to blur together. 

“Goodnight, kiddo… feel better.” He faintly hears Tony say to him, before he falls into a deep, peaceful sleep.


End file.
